The Forgotten Mother: A spine chilling crime thriller with a heart stopping twist (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 3)

by M. L Rose

  “It’s my muscular legs, I can’t…”

  “Shut up Harry. I don’t want to hear it.” Arla grimaced and pressed the buzzer herself. She kept her finger on it till a white shirted security guard came running out of a side door.

  He spoke through the intercom. “Who are you?”

  They both pressed their warrant cards on the glass door. “Detectives from the London Met.” Arla didn't say any more. There was a pause, then the door slid open.

  The security guard was shorter than Harry, but at Arla’s height of five eleven. He stared at them warily. “What do you want?”

  “Five Guys Media. Do you know what floor it’s on?”

  “Yes, the first floor. I need to call them. What’s this about?”

  “A police investigation. We can get there ourselves.”

  Harry found the elevators and Arla followed. The doors opened into a deep carpeted corridor with two offices on either side. A young woman opened the door of Five Guys Media and stared at them inquisitively.

  “We are closed now. Who are you?”

  Arla explained, one foot in the doorway. The woman, just out of college, frowned at their ID badges. “I’m sorry, but there’s no one here.”

  Arla pushed the door open and stepped inside. “We just need to take a look around.”

  Harry stepped in behind Arla. “Where is Mr. Longworth?”

  The woman was still frowning. “He’s left the office. Look, you can’t just barge in here. What do you want?”

  Arla was looking around, and a sudden flicker of movement caught her eyes. It was at a door at the end of the hallway. A face at the glass panel of the door, which withdrew abruptly as Arla looked.

  She moved fast. The door was unlocked, and she opened it to reveal an open plan office. Most of the desks were empty, but three to four heads looked up as she stumbled inside. Another set of doors at the far end was just closing.

  Arla ran, dodging past the tables. She could hear Harry hard on her heels. The door gave way to a staircase landing. The window was open, and it looked out onto the street below. Arla glanced up and down the stairs.

  Behind her, Harry said, “Here.” He brushed past her and leaned out of the window. Arla joined him. Beneath the window there was a flat roof that acted as shelter for the workers at the front door. A running shape attracted her eyes, moving in and out of the throngs of people.

  “There” Harry pointed, shouting. He ran down the stairs and Arla followed.

  “Black jacket and dark jeans,” Harry panted as they burst out the front doors. “Medium height. Didn't get his face.”

  “You go after him,” Arla said. “I’ll hook round to the left, to the station.”

  Arla knew it was a hopeless task, given the rush hour. But it was worth a try. A car blared its horn as she stepped in front of it. The car skidded to a halt, the driver screaming obscenities. Arla ran across the road, into an alley that was crowded with people. She raced down it, then hooked a right, coming back onto a traffic filled road.

  She slammed into a man and got almost knocked over. Mumbling an apology, Arla raced towards the tube stop ahead. Moped and bikes sputtered behind her, double decker buses wheezed as they came to a stop. Arla did her best, but she knew it was futile. When she got to the tube station, sweat was pouring down her face. Her shirt stuck to her body like a second skin. She struggled past the mesh of bodies and into the station foyer. She looked around wildly.

  Harry’s tall figure appeared, rising head and shoulders above the majority of the commuters. She raised her arm and he clocked her, then pushed his way over. He was panting, the same as her.

  “I saw him, but that guy can run. Weaved in and out so quickly.”

  “He came this way, right?”

  “Yes, but I also lost sight of him. Sorry guv.”

  Arla put her hands on her waist. “Don’t be. It was worth a try.”

  Harry’s phone started to ring. A second later, so did hers.

  CHAPTER 24

  The station number was flashing on Arla’s phone. She answered immediately.

  “Where are you, DCI Baker?” Johnson’s deep voice boomed down the line.

  “Chasing after a suspect as we speak, sir.”

  “I see,” Johnson’s tone became slightly mollified. “But I have some urgent news to share with you.”

  Arla’s heart sank. “What is it?”

  “Have you checked the BBC news website?”

  Oh no.

  “No, I haven’t had the time sir, is there anything I should know about?”

  “It’s out, Arla. The media have got hold of it, and TV vans are clogging up the road outside Mr. Longworth’s house. The Secretary of State has been down the phone at me again, and so has the wife, Cherie. She’s in tears. How the hell did this happen?”

  Arla cast her mind back and came up with one solution. The neighbour. Mrs Parker. She rubbed her forehead.

  “It wasn’t one of our team I can guarantee that. This case is gathering a lot of interest and it’s impractical to think we can keep it under wraps.”

  “Try telling that to the minister who fixes our budget!” Johnson raised his voice. “I want you back at the office now for a report. We need a conviction.”

  “A conviction? We have no idea…”

  The line was disconnected as Johnson hung up. Arla grit her teeth. She felt like hurling the phone on the floor and stepping on it.

  She caught Harry looking at her. She shook her head and walked off towards the elevators.

  *****

  Arla got herself a coffee from the vending machine when she entered the station. The coffee was normally rancid, but any warmth was good now. Holding the steaming cup and wishing she could have a cigarette, Arla walked into the office space. Some of the detectives were leaving, and she caught sight of the portly figure of Jason Beauregard. He planted himself in front of her, blocking her path.

  “Well, looking for cold cases was a waste of time, DCI Baker.” He said the last words with an emphasis. He had never gotten over the fact that it was Arla, and not him who had got the higher rank. Arla resisted the urge to throw her coffee over his red face.

  “Thinking laterally never hurt anyone, Jason.” Arla made to move past him, but he stopped her.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree here, Arla. If you had any sense, you’d listen to me.”

  “I am the SIO, Jason. And right now, I don’t have the time.”

  She stormed past him, hearing him say something under his breath. She didn't catch it, which was lucky, because she probably would’ve turned around and slapped him. Arla slammed shut the door of her office. Immediately, the phone on her desk started to ring, like it had been waiting for her.

  It was Johnson. “Up in my office in ten,” he barked and hung up.

  Arla shook her head and took her wet coat off, draping it over the chair. Someone knocked on the door.

  “What?!” Arla shouted.

  Lisa’s blonde curls appeared when she cautiously opened the door. Arla flopped down on the chair and closed her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “No worries, guv.” Lisa came inside the room. “You OK? Heard the boss was looking for you.”

  “Oh, that he is.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. Her eyes fell on the folder on Lisa’s hand. “Got something for me?”

  “Yes.” Lisa beamed and Arla’s heart lifted. Lisa wasn’t prone to theatricals, she put her head down and got on with the job. If she was smiling, there would be good reason.

  “What is it?”

  “Got hold of Longworth’s bank statements which were downloaded on his laptop. For the last year, in fact. A few things stand out. He was short of money. Desperately so. Looks like he had moved a lot of money last year which made him almost bankrupt.”

  “Moved money to where?”

  “The largest transfers are to an entity called Blue Horizon. It sounded like a company, so I did a search on the Companies House website. It has a registration num
ber.”

  “Good work,” Arla said, feeling calmer and more satisfied with the progress Lisa had made. “Sit down,” she offered.

  “No thanks guv, would rather stand. Sat on my arse for three hours going through this stuff.”

  “Fine. What did you find out about the company?”

  “Have you heard of a type of investment called EIS?”

  “Given that I have no money to invest after rent, bills and food - no.”

  “EIS stands for Enterprise Investment Scheme. It’s mainly for media companies who look to attract wealthy investors in return for tax benefits. Like, if you invest £100k into an EIS, you don’t have to pay any tax on that money.”

  “And what return do they get on the money?”

  “If the film they are investing in does well, then it’s bumper profits, obviously. But even if the film flops, their base amount of £100k is still protected, less 2% for admin costs.”

  Arla pondered. “So this is popular right? I mean rich people with money to burn can hide their money from the tax man.”

  “The money’s locked up for 2 years, minimum. Different EIS have different rules. But you’re right, it’s popular. Remember that rock star who got done by the tax man for hiding money in some dodgy tax evasion scheme?”

  Lisa told Arla the name. Arla nodded. “Yeah, I remember. This is the same sort of stuff, right?”

  When Lisa nodded, Arla said, “So, who’s behind Blue Horizon?”

  “It’s registered in the Bahamas. That’s all I know. As it happens, companies in the Bahamas are registered on our www.gov.uk website. But I need a password to access their registry.”

  “OK, that’s going to take some time to organise. We might have to ask the NCA for help. We have no jurisdiction abroad as you know. Leave it with me,” Arla sighed. One more thing for her to do. Lisa was lingering.

  “Anything else?” Arla asked.

  “Yes. There’s another account that the victim used to send money to. Three to five-thousand at any one time, so not small amounts. This is a UK account, so I called the bank and got the name of the person.”

  “His son, Luke?”

  “Nope,” Lisa said. “It’s someone called Michael Simpson. Interesting chap, he is.”

  Arla grinned. “You have been digging around haven’t you? This gets you lots of brownie points.”

  “He’s a hot shot film producer, it turns out. Quite well known in media circles. But from our point, it’s his car that’s more important.”

  Arla frowned. “His car?”

  Lisa put her hands on the back of the chair and leaned over. “A silver Bentley with the private number plate of MS100.”

  CHAPTER 25

  There was another knock on the door, then Harry entered before he was invited. “Time to go upstairs.”

  Arla stood, picking up her phone. “Good work, Lisa.” She took the folder from Lisa’s hand, just in case.

  As they went up the stairs, Arla filled Harry in. He whistled. “So this Michael Simpson was getting money from Longworth, and he came to see him a few times before he died?”

  “Yes, if we can believe the nosy neighbour, Mrs Parker.”

  “This is opening up now,” Harry’s voice was low and throaty, like when he was excited. She caught the glint of excitement in his boyish eyes and smiled despite herself. She felt the same way as him, and when Harry’s eyes narrowed, she almost knew what he was going to say.

  “Someone was expecting us at Luke’s workplace. Like they knew we were coming.”

  Arla nodded. “It might have been Luke himself who did the vanishing act. Or could it be a decoy?”

  “Distract us from searching the place? So he could escape with stuff?” Harry paused with his hand on the door handle. They had reached the top landing. “I hadn't even thought of that. What could he have in his office that’s worth hiding?”

  Harry swung the door open and they went through. The fifth floor had deep carpets, two tone lights on the wall and fresh paint. It even smelt different to the corridors below.

  Arla said, “I wanted to surprise him by turning up. It might well have backfired. Now we need a warrant.”

  “Easily done. After all, if we’d caught the escape artist, he would be under arrest now.”

  Harry knocked on the door and they heard Johnson’s voice. “Come in.”

  Arla walked in to find two men sitting opposite Johnson. She had never seen either before. Johnson stood and did the introductions.

  “Detectives, this is Jeremy Melville, our new psychologist and Ken Nixon, a case officer.”

  The psychologist bit Arla understood. The department was trying to recruit a criminal profiler. But she didn't like the job title of case officer. She looked from the two men to Johnson.

  “Case officer of what sir?”

  Johnson coughed and sat down, avoiding his eyes from Arla. “From MI5.”

  Arla was aghast. “Five? Intelligence agent? This is a domestic homicide sir, something we are more than capable of handling on our own.”

  “I know that, Arla,” Johnson said, looking up at her. His features gave away the embarrassment he was feeling. No self-respecting police officer wants an intelligence agency telling them what to do. But Arla knew that Johnson was looking after his new promotion. Commander Johnson. And tacitly, he was also asking Arla to fall in line, if she wanted his job in the future. With an effort, Arla contained the sense of unease that was spreading through her like wildfire.

  Johnson said, “This case might be a domestic one, but it has special features that Mr Nixon can help us with.”

  “Special features?” Arla couldn't hide her scathing tone.

  “If I can just explain, DCI Baker,” Ken Nixon murmured, standing. He was a good-looking man, Arla conceded. His brown hair was short, his face tanned with a hint of stubble. Sparkling green eyes stared out over high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline.

  “I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes.”

  “The question remains if you should be here at all,” Arla said and regretted it immediately. She was poor at this game of office politics. She wished she could swallow her tongue sometimes.

  “DCI Baker!” Johnson’s voice held a stiff reprimand.

  Nixon cleared his throat. “As you know, we work closely with the Secretary of State on matters concerning national security. That can include domestic homicides.” He glanced at Arla, who took a seat next to Harry.

  Arla said, “The victim was a film director. Hardly a terrorist.”

  “I know,” Nixon said smoothly. He remained unruffled which Arla liked. “But he had a lot of interests abroad, mainly in America. He was also well known to the Secretary of State personally. Which meant he was present in the minister’s house at dinner parties and so on, and as a result was privy to discussions which are of a sensitive nature.”

  Arla said, “Was Longworth under surveillance already?”

  Nixon looked surprised. “No. He was never considered a leak. But the minister has asked us to take an interest. I’m sure you can see why.”

  Can I hell, Arla thought to herself.

  Johnson said, “So can we please have a report of what progress you have made so far, DCI Baker.”

  “It’s only the first day of the investigation, sir. I’ve been to the victim’s house, met the wife and then also been to his son’s office. Haven’t had any time to prepare a report.”

  “A verbal one will be fine.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Arla didn't want to talk about an ongoing investigation in front of an MI5 officer. She knew nothing about Ken Nixon and didn't trust him one inch. The man looked suave and dignified, and that put her even more on guard.

  But she had no choice. Johnson’s demeanour made that very obvious. She knew he was kissing arse, a prerequisite, Arla supposed, to rising up the ranks in the London Met. Especially if the arse belonged to a cabinet Minister.

  She told them what she knew. Johnson’s brows were tightly knit, a distur
bed look on his face when she finished.

  “So, you think his son is behind all this?”

  “I didn't say that,” Arla said quickly. “But his behaviour is suspect. Not only does he not go to see his step mother after such a traumatic event, I know for a fact now he is deliberately avoiding us.”

  Nixon intervened. “As you said, he had a difficult relationship with his father. I am sure he just needs some time. It’s only been a day. He could be in shock.”

  Arla said, “What would you do if you heard your father’s been murdered, Mr Nixon? Jump out of your office window to avoid the police?”

  “Now hang on minute, Arla, no one’s saying that was him. Neither you nor DI Mehta identified him, did you?” Johnson barked.

  “No,” Arla said. “But what happened at the office was odd, you must admit.”

  Nixon turned to Jeremy Melville, the psychologist. “Shock can make people act strangely, can it not?”

  Melville shrugged his shoulders. He was tall and thin, with long hair at his shoulders, and glasses. With his frayed Doc Marten black boots and corduroy jeans, he looked like a nerd who was somewhat worried he was in a police station. His voice, however, was not hesitant at all.

  “I’m afraid I cannot comment on a suspect without seeing a taped interview or speaking to them first.”

  “But in your opinion…”

  “My opinion is irrelevant in this case,” Melville said quietly but firmly. He looked at Johnson. “I have not even been briefed on this.”

  Arla liked the man immediately. He wasn’t flash, but neither was he a pushover. But she wasn’t worried about Melville. It was Nixon that concerned her.

  Arla leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs. She addressed Nixon. “Why are you so keen on protecting Luke Longworth? Is there something I should know?”

  Nixon stopped, and exchanged a quick glance with Johnson. In that split second, Arla knew. They were hiding something, and it was the reason why Nixon was here.

  She frowned. Luke Longworth didn't have a police record. Not till he was 12 years old anyway. But individuals could, in exceptional circumstances, apply for deletion of records from the Police National Computer or PNC.